if it kills me
by Griever11
Summary: Prompt fill from over at Tumblr. Castle helps with Beckett's recovery after they both get into an accident. Season 3, pre-Caskett. One shot.


_Let's just assume Josh and Gina don't exist in this universe. Cheers!_

* * *

 **if it kills me**

* * *

It's the burning agony traveling through her body that wakes her up.

Her eyes are stinging, crusty around the edges as she blinks and she struggles to remember why the hell she's in so much pain. She's on her back, her legs trapped under something heavy and her arms - oh her right shoulder is caught around the seatbelt-

Seatbelt.

Oh god.

Accident. She's been in an accident, she's … she's not in her car, this is _definitely_ not her car. The interior of the Crown Vic doesn't have the fancy, albeit broken dashboard currently digging into her calves, doesn't have the leather seats she's staring at-

Staring at? Oh, she's upside down. And she's upside down in _Castle's_ car.

"Shit, Castle!" Her voice sounds alien to her ears, hoarse and scratchy, her throat itching as she calls out his name again. "Answer me, damn it!"

She twists around, ignores the white hot flash of hurt that shoots up the side of her body and claws around desperately with her free hand for some purchase. Her head is pounding and she can smell the sour tang of blood in the air, his or hers, she can't tell but she wastes no time finding out. She can feel the shards of glass embedded in her skin as she pulls herself free, wrestling her limbs from the wrecked front end of the car, dragging them so she's no longer flat on her back.

The throbbing in her shoulder increases as she turns and starts crawling towards the broken passenger side window. She takes small steps as she inches forwards, careful to place the palms of her hands on areas relatively free of glass and grits her teeth through the sting of pain until she sees him.

His feet, specifically.

Her blood runs cold and she stills, eyes fixed on the shoes she knows belongs to her partner. She can't see the rest of his body, obscured by the metal frame of his car. The bit of leg she spies from her vantage point seems unharmed, but it's unmoving and she doesn't want to think of what it could mean for him. She swallows the dread that's slowly seeping through her veins, pushes through the wreckage and nudges her way through the broken window, accumulating more scrapes and cuts on along the way.

"Castle," she murmurs as she manages to extricate herself fully from the car. He's lying face down on the ground, sports jacket ripped along the back, sleeves shredded, baring his bloody arms to her. Her heart thunders in her ear, the repetitive thud-thudding mocking her as if it's compensating for the lack of a similar beat from her partner's own body. She shakes her head and tries to push the morbid thoughts out of her head. He can't be dead. He _can't_ be.

She reaches out to him, places her fingers on his neck and waits.

She nearly collapses in relief when she feels it, the faint pulsing beat beneath his skin. He's alive. He's alive and that's all that matters.

"Castle," she whispers, this time running her fingers along his body, gently turning his torso around so she has a clear view of his face. It's marred with scratches, and a trickle of blood trails downwards from his forehead towards his neck. "Castle, c'mon."

She feels so helpless. Kate Beckett, detective extraordinaire feels absolutely useless. She doesn't know where her cell phone is, the car's mangled beyond repair and her partner - oh.

She's so preoccupied cataloging the absolute disparity of the situation they're in that she doesn't realize he's opened his eyes. She stares into the sea of blue as he peers up at her, willing the tears pooling in her eyes not to fall. She sees the confusion reflected in his eyes, can tell that he's a little disoriented.

"Beckett?"

He starts moving and she's tempted to stop him, but he manages to sit upright without too much of a hassle. He winces as he notices his bloodied arms and then turns, his gaze focused on her, intense with worry. She knows he's doing what she did mere moments earlier, scanning her body for wounds. She creeps up to him, kneels by his feet and takes his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze before settling by his side, still facing him.

"How're you doing?"

She pushes the hair away from his forehead, flinching as she feels the blood matted on the top of his head. Castle groans as he stretches his hands, wriggles his fingers and sighs. "I think I'm okay."

He's still staring intently at her, and it makes her wonder how bad she must look to him. She can feel the dried blood in her hair, she's probably sustained a few scrapes on her face and her right shoulder that hurt before has now become numb - not a good sign, she knows - but otherwise, she thinks she's fine.

"Castle, we gotta find help."

He blinks dumbly at her and it worries her that he's taking a while to comprehend her words. A few seconds tick by and just as Beckett's about to repeat herself, he grunts something unintelligible at her and he pulls his hand out of hers. She misses the contact immediately, but he reaches into the pocket in his jeans, hands her his cell phone and she can't imagine being more grateful than she was in the moment.

The screen is cracked in multiple places, but she manages to key his passcode in - she's seen him do it a thousand times by now - and everything seems to be in perfect working order. She casts a glance at her partner, and her heart stumbles at how lost he looks, stoic and silent, the complete opposite of his usual self.

The call connects after a few rings and she reaches out again to take his hand in hers. He lists towards her, arms lifting to wrap around her shoulder and while it does send a jolt of pain through the shoulder she's hurt, she welcomes his touch and she sinks into his solid warmth.

They'll be fine. She refuses to think that this is how it ends. Help's on the way now, they'll be perfectly fine.

* * *

The nurses help them clean up before they manage to see a doctor. Shards of glass are pulled out of their skin, blood washed off most of their hair and skin. They're mostly silent through the entire process, except for the few calls he makes to Martha and Alexis to assure them he's perfectly fine. She's a little uncomfortable with the white lie, they don't really know if he's fine, but she doesn't have the energy to argue with him about it. The adrenaline that coursed through her veins earlier has worn off, and she's struggling to maintain a straight face when all she wants to do is cry out in pain with every move she makes. She can't move her shoulder anymore, her chest hurts when she inhales anything more than a shallow breath, and her ankle has swollen so much she had to remove her heels in the ambulance on the way there.

Castle on the other hand, save for a few bruises and the cuts on his arm, seems fine. They'd tried to piece together what happened prior to her waking up at the crash site and although bits and pieces are still a little unclear, they're pretty sure they know what happened.

Her Crown Vic had been in the shop undergoing routine maintenance and instead of dealing with the peak hour traffic or the subway, she'd taken Castle up on the offer to drive her home when she clocked out at five. Only, he'd complained about being hungry and had pestered her about wanting to try a new restaurant out in New Jersey and she eventually caved, agreeing to have dinner with him at the new place.

At some point in their drive, while Castle belted out songs from the Phantom of the Opera and she tried to hold back her laughter at her ridiculous partner, a car had come barreling down their lane of the freeway, speeding towards them and Castle had had to swerve dangerously out of the way. Beckett remembers the screeching tires, the horrified scream that left her lips as the car hit the curb and flipped in the air. She remembers hitting her head, remembers the harsh shriek of metal and glass against asphalt as her world fell into darkness. Then she'd woken up.

She wonders for a fleeting second how close she came to not waking up at all.

"Miss Beckett? Mr. Castle?"

She looks up, grateful for the interruption before her thoughts take a darker turn. The nurse nods as they both stand up and looks down at her clipboard.

"The doctor will see you now."

* * *

They leave the hospital exhausted, the stress of the past few hours fading away until all that's left is a bone-deep weariness that makes Beckett feel like she could sleep for days on end. They take a seat on a bench outside the hospital and she lays her head on Castle's shoulder, half listening to the call he's making requesting for a cab to take them home.

The doctor had given Castle a relatively clean bill of health; he's suffering from a mild concussion but otherwise the cuts and bruises were merely superficial. He'd suggested Castle stay awake for 24 hours, maintain proper care and dressing for his cuts and had been happy to let him go.

Beckett on the other hand had sustained far more serious injuries. She'd fractured her shoulder bone, cracked a few ribs and her ankle had been severely twisted. The doctor and Castle both were reluctant to let her leave but she'd insisted she was fine, and that she'd get proper care at home. They'd wrapped her ankle up in a brace, gave her a long list of drugs to take for her pain and sent her off begrudgingly into the night.

"I'm staying with you tonight, don't even try to fight me on this, Beckett."

She turns to him, surprised at the steel she hears in his voice and the fierceness in his gaze. He's being protective of her - she can tell from the stern set of his jaw and the way he'd spoken to her, not leaving any room for her to argue. She lifts her head from his shoulder, feels her neck crack and groans at the uncomfortable ache that spreads through her upper body. Maybe letting Castle look after her for a while isn't such a bad idea.

"I … I wasn't going to, Castle. Fight you, I mean."

He relaxes immediately, shoulders slumping, his spine less rigid as he leans back into the back of the bench, waiting for the cab he'd called for earlier. Beckett extends her uninjured arm, places her hand on his thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Hey, we're both okay. That's all that matters right now, and really, all we've missed out on is dinner. And we can make up for it when we get home."

His eyes meet hers as she finishes her sentence, eyebrows quirking at the mention of 'home' as if she meant they were currently sharing one. She's about to take it back, wants to clarify what she means, but decides against it in the last minute. She'll let him have this one for tonight.

"We might have to order in though, I've got nothing to eat at my place," she says just as her stomach rumbles in agreement.

Castle chuckles, the first sign of mirth she's seen from him since their accident. He places his own warm hand over hers on his thigh and his fingers wrap around hers affectionately. "I've got us covered, don't you worry, Beckett."

* * *

She relinquishes her keys to him when they arrive at her door, doesn't want to bother maneuvering around her injured arm and using her less dominant hand to wrestle the mess of metal into the small keyhole. She nudges her way through the doorway, glancing quickly around her apartment, trying to recall what state she left it in that morning before she hurried off to work. Nothing seems out of place, thankfully and she makes her way to her living room, desperate to sink into the plush cushions on her couch.

She drops a little unceremoniously into the much welcomed softness, wincing as a sharp twinge travels through her entire upper body. She's going to have to remember to really take it easy over the next few weeks. She hears Castle on the phone ordering Chinese and a wave of gratitude washes over her. She shuts her eyes, listens to the strong cadence of his voice, specifying _no onions, extra chillis_ on the chow mein and she grins. She doesn't know when exactly they'd become so familiar with each other - she can recite his favorite order in a heartbeat as well - but she's glad for it.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

She cracks open an eye and smiles at Castle, crouched in front of her with a bag of frozen peas in his hand.

"It was pretty much the only thing in your freezer." He offers as an answer to her unspoken question.

He reaches for her injured ankle, eyes imploring for permission and when she says nothing, his fingers curl around her calf and lifts it gently. He straightens it, warmth spreading from his hand down the back of her calf as he arranges her foot on her table, resting it on the Union Jack cushion he's stolen from her armchair. He places the bag of peas over her ankle and pats it into place, grinning satisfactorily, very obviously happy with himself before he stands up.

The cold seeps into her skin, but it does alleviate the discomfort around her ankle. "Thanks, Castle," she murmurs, scooting over on the couch to make space for him. She pats the space beside her and snags his hand, tugging on it so he collapses down next to her. "Just stop worrying for a second and sit with me."

She can't really move too much, not with the bag on her ankle and the fact that she's in pain all over, so Castle's practically wedged between her and side of the couch, not a single inch of space between them. A few months ago, fresh from the sting of rejection after watching him walk away with Gina, she'd have laughed at the notion of them possibly being cuddled up on her couch, utterly comfortable with the lack of personal space between them. Now though, his bicep is pressed up against her own, large and comforting, and she's enjoying the complete sense of security his presence is providing.

Beckett turns to look at him, noticing the curve of his jawline, the faint hint of stubble that's starting to show. She wriggles a little, her shoulder digging into his, catching his attention. "Move your arm, Castle. I wanna get comfortable."

"The meds are making you loopy, Beckett," he says, even as he acquiesces, lifting his arm so it drapes over the back of his couch, allowing her to fully lean into his side.

She pillows her cheek against his shoulder, her own uninjured arm nestles comfortably between his armpit and his ribcage. Yes, she'll definitely blame it on the meds if anyone asks her, but she can't be bothered to mind at the moment. He's warm and despite the day they've had, he still smells good - a mix of cologne and _Castle_ and she's content to stay the way she is, cozied up to him for a good long while.

Eventually Castle's outstretched hand leaves the back of the couch, his fingers coming around to stroke her hair, fingertips brushing against her scalp as he runs them through her long locks. It soothes her, the rhythmic up-down strokes of his fingers lulling her into a state of complete contentment. She burrows deeper into him and lets out a soft sigh.

After a few minutes, his fingers stall and she feels him shift in his seat before he speaks. "Beckett, I'm really sorry."

His words make her pull back from him and she glances up, straight into the cerulean blue of his eyes. She sees the regret and guilt in them, the worry lines showing around the edge of his eyes more pronounced now more than ever. She lifts her hand, allows her fingers to trace the contours of face, then drags them down so she can feel the stubble growing over his chin.

"Castle, c'mon, it wasn't your fault."

"But you're hurt." His head falls backward against the back of couch, as if he can't bear to look at her anymore. "You can't move your arm, you can't even breathe without hurting yourself and your foot…"

His arm waves in the general direction of where he'd propped her foot up, and then drops back to his side. "If I'd been more careful, if the I'd been driv-"

"No, Castle, don't do this to yourself. Listen to me," she sits up straight, tearing herself away from him reluctantly. Her injured shoulder protests against the sudden movement, but she ignores it and uses her good hand to turn his face towards hers.

"Not. Your. Fault. Okay?" she tells him. "Accidents happen, and yeah, we're both a little worse for wear but we're alive. You're here, I'm here, and there's nowhere and no one else I'd rather be with right now. So please, don't … don't do this."

He holds her gaze for what seems like an eternity, silent and serious. She's not sure if she's gotten through to him, and she's ready to launch into another speech, she's not opposed to begging tonight, she'll do whatever it takes to take away the misplaced guilt he's harboring over the incident. She's about to begin her spiel when the corners of his mouth turn upwards, a small smile growing on his lips.

"No one else you'd rather be with, huh?"

Beckett blanches, realizing she'd revealed far too much about the feelings she has for him that she's been trying to ignore. Damn medication.

"Well, I mean if there really is no one else you can stand being around besides me, I suppose I'll just have to suck it up and deal with it."

"Shut up, Castle."

But it's too late, the damage has been done and he's way too smug about it now. Before she knows it, he's pulling her towards him, his arms careful to curl around her waist, avoiding her cracked ribs and settling warmly on the space just above the waistline of her jeans. She allows herself to be cuddled, to be pressed up deliciously against his side and once again rests her cheek against his bicep. He's creating a warm cocoon around her, his fingers once again back between her tresses, calming.

They haven't spoken much about their arrangement past tonight. The doctor had recommended she stay off her foot for at least two weeks and her cracked ribs and shoulder might take even more time to fully heal. She's not sure what he plans to do, but she knows if she asked he'd gladly help her through the entire recovery process.

But does she want him to?

She can feel his heart beating faintly beneath his shirt, the steady drumming against his chest echoing in her ear. He's been so good to her tonight, so warm and cuddly and god - if he keeps the stubble, she's not even sure she has the power to say no to anything he asks of her.

So does she want him to stick around for her recovery?

She swallows, mentally silencing the voices in her head that are currently at war with the fighters in her heart.

Hell _yes_ she does.

* * *

Tumblr: griever11  
Twitter: estheryam


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